


crashing

by silvereye5



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Severitus, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Severus Snape Adopts Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 21:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvereye5/pseuds/silvereye5
Summary: The Dursleys die unexpectedly and Albus must find a new place for seven-year-old Harry Potter.





	crashing

**Author's Note:**

> The author does not give permission for this work to be published, shared, quoted, or read in any other forum.

**Chapter One **

Harry had never been in hospital before. Well, he’d _ been _but he’d never been a patient. One time, Dudley had had to have his tonsils out or something and he’d been in hospital then, and Harry had gone with Aunt Petunia to pick him up after. 

But now Harry was in the bed and the doctors and nurses were poking him and shining lights in his eyes. They looked at the scar on his head and asked him how he’d gotten it. 

“In a car crash. A different one. Not this one.” 

They’d been quiet with him mostly though. Tiptoeing around something. 

Harry knew what. He’d seen it before the ambulance came. He was the only one that crawled out of the smashed up car. And while he was maneuvering out of a busted window, there’d been a lot of blood around that wasn’t coming out of him. 

The nurse taped down the white gauze on his hands. He’d cut himself up pretty badly on some glass shards scattered on the road. 

“Alright, Harry.” The nurse and the doctor kept calling him Harry, like they were real pals. It was weird. “Do you like orange juice or apple juice?” 

“Um, apple.” 

She smiled. “Ok. Just relax, Harry. I’ll be right back with some crackers and a big cup of apple juice.” 

Harry nodded and watched her walk out. He nestled down against the thin pillow under his head and looked at the ceiling. The sheets he was on were a bit scratchy, but the blanket they’d given him was the softest he’d ever had, or remembered having, anyway. But it all had a weird smell. The whole place had a weird smell, bleach mixed with something sour. 

The door creaked open and Harry lifted his head up, expecting to see the nurse bustle in with a tray. Instead, there was an old man. He wasn’t wearing scrubs and he had a ridiculously long beard. Harry was pretty sure he didn’t work in the hospital. Harry shifted and pushed his way back to sitting. 

“Hello, Harry.” 

The man smiled and moved into the room, closing the door behind him. Harry watched him walk towards the bed and pushed himself farther back, clutching the sheets between his fingers. 

“I’m Albus Dumbledore.” 

The man smiled at Harry, but didn’t say anything else, like ‘I’m a doctor’ or ‘I’m a police officer’. Harry blinked a few times and simply said, “Okay.” 

Albus Dumbledore nodded, turned and grabbed a chair. He positioned it near the head of the bed and sat down, resting his hands in his lap. 

Harry licked his lips. “You don’t need to baby me. I already know.” 

Albus Dumbledore’s bushy eyebrows rose. “You do?” 

“I mean, I saw. Before the ambulance got there. So, I know.” Harry shifted. “Everyone can stop being weird and careful now.” 

Albus Dumbledore nodded again, and he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes or match his posture. “You are a brave boy, Harry.” 

Harry didn’t know what was brave about him. He hadn’t done anything. “Do you work for the hospital or something?” 

“No,” Albus Dumbledore looked into Harry’s eyes. “I am...an old family friend.” 

“Oh.” Harry didn’t remember him, but his aunt and uncle didn’t really introduce him around to their friends. “I’m sorry that your friends, um, you know, died.” 

Albus Dumbledore stroked his beard. It had little charms laced into it. Harry’d never seen anything like it. He couldn’t quite believe this man _ was _ friends with the Dursleys. He did not seem like someone they’d approve of him talking to, but he supposed that didn’t really matter anymore. Harry chewed on his bottom lip and twisted the sheets between his fingers. He looked down at his lap. 

“That is very nice of you, Harry, however, I did not mean your aunt nor your uncle.” 

Harry’s eyes went wide. He swallowed and it felt like a rock was sliding down his throat. 

The door opened and the nurse walked in carrying a tray with a juice box and saltines on it. She startled when she spotted someone sitting by the bed. “Oh, hello,” she said. Her eyes looked Albus Dumbledore up and down and narrowed. “Do you have permission to be in here?” 

Albus Dumbledore stood up as she stepped close to Harry and stood over him protectively. 

A stick of wood popped out of Albus Dumbledore’s sleeve. Harry squinted at it to be sure he was seeing correctly, but it still looked like a stick. 

“I do,” Albus Dumbledore said. “I have known Harry here since the day he was born. I am his guardian, of a sort.” 

Harry stared up at the man for a second, then looked back at the nurse. “Yes,” he said. “He’s a family friend.” 

Albus Dumbledore put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I will be taking him home today.” 

The nurse opened her mouth, her brow wrinkling. She looked at the hand touching Harry, but then she blinked and her features flattened. Her eyes looked odd, vacant and glassy. “I’ll get the paperwork together for you,” she said and handed the juice and crackers to Harry. Harry turned and placed them on the table next to his bed and watched her leave. 

“Don’t you want to eat something, Harry?” 

“No. How did you know my parents?” 

“I was the Headmaster at their school. I still am, in fact.” 

That maybe explained why he’d never met him. He pressed his lips together. He looked at where the stick had been resting in the man’s right hand, and then back up at Albus Dumbledore’s face. “I’m going home with you, you said.” 

“Yes.” Albus Dumbledore hadn’t sat back down. He did so now though, settling in like he planned to stay a while. 

“What was that stick you had?” Harry asked. 

“This.” Albus Dumbledore pulled it out. Now that Harry saw it, it was more than just a stick. It had a design engraved on it. A kind of circular, tapering bumps sort of thing. “This is my wand.” 

Harry stared at it. Then glanced up to where Albus Dumbledore was looking at him expectantly. He shook his head. “It’s a stick. I mean, it’s a very nice stick, but it is a stick.” 

Albus Dumbledore chuckled. “Thank you.” He ran one finger down its length. “It is a fine stick.” 

As far as sticks went, Harry supposed it was quite lovely. 

“Your parents had wands as well.” 

“They had sticks.” 

“Wands, Harry. Yes.” 

Harry glanced at the door the nurse had just left from. “And, what did they do with their...wands?” 

Albus Dumbledore smiled. “Well, I could tell you, but it might be easier if I show you.” 

****** 

“Albus said it was an automobile accident.” Minerva’s fingers twisted in the hem of her robe. “All dead, save the Potter boy.” 

Poppy’s eyes shone and she shook her head. “That poor child. He’s lost all of his family now.” 

Severus stared down at his roast chicken. He’d cut it into small even bites before Minerva had joined them at the head table and whispered her news to Poppy beside him. The gravy he’d poured over his mashed potatoes began to leak rivulets between the pieces. He placed his fork down to the right of his plate, and his knife down beside it. He blinked, blinked again, and raised his eyes to look across the Great Hall. Everyone laughed, talked, ate. Lily Evans’ sister was dead. He, Severus Snape, had outlived both Evans girls and the world continued to turn as if this was not in any way momentous, an injustice, a revelation. 

“Where is the boy now?” Poppy asked and Severus tilted his head. 

Minerva poured wine into her goblet. “Albus went to see him just an hour ago. I don’t know where he’ll go. Where he will stay now.” 

The Potter boy would be seven now. Just gone seven last summer. 

Severus stood up. He slowly eased his chair back under the table, he ignored Minerva calling his name, and he strode down the center aisle and out the doors. He made his way up the stairs, avoiding the trick steps and the misdirection shifts, to the Headmaster’s office. 

He’d only been there a moment, just long enough to sit down before Dumbledore’s enormous desk, when the Floo flared green and out stepped, first, a small child and then Dumbledore, dressed as a Muggle. A mentally touched Muggle, but a Muggle all the same. Potter, because of course it could be no one but, had bandages wrapped around his hands and forearms. His eyes were wide as saucers. He was pale and ridiculously scrawny. His hair was an absolute bird’s nest of tangles, dirt, blood, and glass. He wore a hospital gown and round spectacles. 

Severus stood up and turned to the both of them. He locked his hands together behind his back. “Headmaster.” He bowed his head in greeting, then tilted it towards the boy. “Minerva is the worst sort of gossip. If you wished to keep this...quiet.” 

Albus sighed, rested his hand on Potter’s shoulder and steered the boy into the room and towards a wingback chair placed catty corner to the fireplace. “Would you like something to eat, Harry? Drink?” 

The boy’s eyes couldn’t take his surroundings in fast enough. They swept from the bookshelves, to the portraits, to the magical gadgets littering various surfaces, to Fawkes (fresh from a recent burning day) perched beside the great desk. Circling around them all over and over and over again, his mouth gaping slightly and his arms hugging his chest more tightly with each pass. 

“Hot chocolate, perhaps,” Albus continued, conjuring a blanket and draping it over the boy’s shoulders. “Biscuits. Ginger nuts are always a nice choice.” 

Albus stepped aside and summoned a house elf, making the boy startle so badly he jumped up into the seat and almost knocked it backwards. Dumbledore ordered the snack and a set of pyjamas appropriate for a small child. The boy’s breathing kicked up, his shoulders heaved up and down, and he looked, if possible, to go even paler. 

“Severus,” Albus pulled his attention away. “A calming draught, please.” 

“Do you really think slipping something into the boy’s drink is the best way to gain his trust, Headmaster?” 

Dumbledore’s gaze locked on Severus’ and said nothing. 

Severus clicked his tongue. He bowed, slightly. “As you wish, sir.” 

Severus turned and left the office, choosing to make the walk instead of shock the boy by disappearing into the flames of the Floo. The moment he’d left the office behind him, he was overcome by a wave of vertigo. He stopped and leaned against the wall, letting the structure hold him up while he recovered. The occupants of the paintings across and above him murmured and whispered, nudging one another and visiting their neighbors to speculate about the state of Severus. Severus watched them and let his annoyance with them all build his strength up enough to push away from the wall and stride towards his stores. 

In the time it took Severus to descend to his dungeons, retrieve the potion (plus an extra vial and a nutrient potion as well), and return, Minerva had joined the little gathering in the Headmaster’s office. Her and Albus were cloistered over by his desk, the mug and plate of biscuits sat next to Albus’ griffin-shaped paperweight atop the desk. Albus waved him over. Severus turned his head to check on the boy as he approached the others and two green, shining, intent eyes looked back at him and watched him warily. 

Severus handed the potions over to Albus, and watched as Albus waved a hand over one vial and made the contents disappear. Severus pressed his lips together. Albus gave the empty vial back to Severus and pocketed the other two. 

“Thank you, my boy.” Albus picked up the tray that held the mug and plate and carried it over to Potter. Potter narrowed his eyes at the snack and at whatever Albus told him about it. 

Minerva laid a hand on Severus' forearm and pulled his attention to her. “He is small. Don’t you think he is small?” 

They both watched Potter sniff the hot chocolate, then glance at Severus. Severus willed his face to remain impassive. The boy put the mug back down and picked up a biscuit instead. He shoved the whole thing in his mouth at once while looking pointedly at Albus. 

Severus lifted one eyebrow. “I have no idea, Minerva. What size is a seven-year-old supposed to be?” 

“Bigger than him. By a few inches.” Potter crammed another biscuit between his lips. “And almost a full stone heavier.” 

“If he keeps downing sweets like he currently is, he’ll catch up soon enough.” 

Albus left the boy to it and rejoined them. 

“He doesn’t seem to trust you, Headmaster.” Severus crossed his arms. 

“That is my impression as well.” 

Minerva said, quietly, “He knew nothing of magic an hour ago.” 

“Yes,” Dumbledore positioned himself so he could watch Potter with them. “I believe he is simply overwhelmed.” 

“Simply?” Snape watched Potter eat another, his fourth or fifth, biscuit. Perhaps, Severus hadn't needed to grab that nutrient potion after all. “It isn’t effecting his appetite, at the very least.” 

“What is the plan, Albus?” 

Albus drew in a deep breath. His fingers went to his beard and ran through the coarse hair several times. 

“No living relatives, no godparents.” 

Severus sneered. “None that haven’t been shamefully tossed in gaol.” 

Potter’s eyelids drooped. Severus watched as he slowly lifted another biscuit towards his mouth. Potter’s mouth opened, but the biscuit didn’t make it inside. The boy’s head lulled forward, his eyes closing fully. His head snapped back up to attention, and the boy looked at the untouched mug on the table next to him then to the biscuit in his hand, his eyes going wide. He blinked twice before his eyelids were dragged back down again, his hand falling to his lap and the biscuit tumbling to the ground while his head fell back to nestle in the nook of the wingback. 

“How many distant cousins will try to claim the Boy Who Lived when they find out, Albus?” 

“I am aware, Minerva.” Albus circled his desk to sit down in his chair. “The pureblood lines that can claim a distant Potter as part of a branch in their tree are concerning, to say the least.” 

Minerva sat in a chair before the desk. Severus approached the set of wingbacks before the fire, stood behind the one opposite the boy’s chair, and placed his hands atop its back. The boy was out like a light. The dose of draught he’d taken in by the fourth ginger nut will have him sleeping until morning. He resembled James Potter from tip to toe. Messy hair, ridiculous spectacles. 

The blanket was draped around his tiny shoulders. He still wore the hospital gown, one knobby knee poking out, the other under the drape of the blanket. His hands rested where they’d fallen in his lap. Bandages wrapped around the boy’s palms. 

Severus took a step around the chair, then forward. He had to bend almost in half to reach Potter’s wrist. He wrapped his fingers around it, completely encircling the limb and then some. Light, and hollow, like a bird bone. Severus released the wrapping and revealed a number of cuts and gashes, one particularly deep one had been stitched up. Severus hissed at the sight and reached for the other wrist to unwrap that one as well. 

“Severus?” 

“You didn’t heal him.” 

Severus pulled his wand and cast cleansing and healing spells over the injuries. The stitches fell away and Severus vanished them before they could hit the floor. Now that he was up close, Severus could see a bruise marring the boy’s forehead. Buried beneath his black hair, tucked above the lightning bolt scar. Severus ran a thumb over the bruise, the meat of his palm grazing the scar. 

“He needs a bruise paste.” 

“Come, Severus, sit,” Albus said. “I will be sure Poppy gives him a full check up in the morning.” 

Severus left the sitting area and threw himself into the other chair before the Headmaster’s desk. 

Minerva said, “We were discussing the possibility of Lily Potter having named a godparent for Harry.” 

“We have no record of one.” Albus leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands in front of his lips. “We could...fabricate one.” 

Minerva’s nostrils flared and her lips pinched together. 

Naming godparents was quite common among pureblood families. Muggleborns were not known to participate in the practice. Severus couldn’t even imagine who Lily would have chosen. 

“Who was she close to at the end?” Minerva asked. 

Albus tilted his head to the left. “James.” 

Severus clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Lily was a well-liked witch. There must be someone.” 

“She may have been well liked, but she did not have many close friends.” Albus peered at Severus through his spectacles, the blue eyes pleading and searching. “Severus. We would need to be able to perpetuate the fiction with pictures, letters, anecdotes.” 

“Albus?” Minerva asked, hesitant. 

Severus swallowed, then said through clenched his teeth. “No.” 

“They would be authentic.” 

Minerva gasped. “Oh, Severus. Yes, I recall now. You and Lily were friends, very, very early on.” 

“Harry could stay close, here at Hogwarts.” 

“I do not want to be Potter’s guardian.” 

“At least until another solution could be worked on. Perhaps a cousin somewhere in the Evans’ line.” 

“Albus.” 

“For now, though, your claim would be the strongest.” 

“It would be a lie.” 

“Surely, you could find some flexibility in your moral code for Lily’s child.” 

Severus could feel his heart pounding away against his sternum. He was sure everyone could hear it in the sudden silence. His skin felt cold and warm at once. His next words came out at nearly a whisper. “What will the Dark Lord say? When I return to him. After having had the Chosen One in my home. In my care. How will he trust me? How will I do what I am supposed to do?” 

“We will keep this as quiet as we possibly can. Then, we will cross that bridge when we get there. For now, this is my plan.” Albus looked first at Severus, nodding his head, then to Minerva, who he gave a grim smile, then, finally, over to the Potter child, fast asleep, mouth agape before the fire. 

****** 

“Headmaster,” said one of the paintings on the wall, “you should obtain proper attire for young Mr. Potter. He cannot lounge around the castle in these Muggle hospital robes.” 

The strange little elf creature, Gertie, had brought pyjamas for Harry last night, but he hadn’t had a chance to change into them before the man that had brought him here had drugged him to sleep. He hadn’t had any of the cocoa, but sneaking it into the biscuits was likely not a problem for people that travel through fireplaces, make blankets appear from nothing, heal cuts and such while a person sleeps, and have paintings that come to life and know your name. Magic, Albus Dumbledore had told him. It was all magic.

“What would you like for breakfast, Harry?” Albus Dumbledore ignored the chatter of the paintings and smiled at Harry, his blue eyes twinkling behind his old-fashioned spectacles. 

“Um,” Harry bit the corner of his bottom lip. “Coco Shreddies.” 

Albus Dumbledore nodded. “And to drink?” 

“Apple juice.” 

“You like apple juice, Harry?” 

“It’s alright.” Harry ran his hands up and down the arms of his chair. “I can have something else, if that’s easier.” 

“Apple juice is fine.” 

Harry nodded and looked around. It was morning and sunshine streamed in through the windows of the office. The walls angled up into a tall peak, the portraits covering every available surface that wasn’t taken up by bookcases and cabinets and shelves. The shelves were littered with odd trinkets and moving gadgets that made strange, quiet noises. Harry jumped when the elf popped into the room again at Albus Dumbledore’s request. He listened as the man ordered breakfast and tea and clothes for Harry. 

“After breakfast, I will take you to see our mediwitch, Madam Pomfrey. She is a bit like a school nurse.” 

Harry glanced down at his healed hands. “I feel fine, sir.” 

“Nonetheless, I’d like to be sure.” Albus Dumbledore smiled. “And, please, call me Albus.” 

The elf reappeared. A tray floated along behind her. On top of it were Harry’s cereal and juice, as well as toast, eggs, a little pot of red jam, and tea. Gertie arranged it on the desk, then laid a bundle of clothes on the empty chair next to Harry. She bowed and disappeared. Harry pressed his lips together as he took in everything spread out before him. 

They tasted like normal Coco Shreddies. But the ginger nuts last night had tasted normal too. Harry was quite hungry though, and before he knew it, the bowl was empty and he’d downed all of the apple juice. Albus ate the toast and eggs and drank the tea. He’d offered some to Harry, but nerves were starting to get the better of him and he didn’t think he could swallow down anything else at the moment. Harry picked up the clothes and went to the bathroom Albus had shown him earlier and got himself ready for the day. 

They traveled through the fireplace again, Floo, Albus called it, to get to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey directed him to a bed. Another woman was there as well, the same one from last night. She introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. By now, Harry had long since figured out he was at a school of some sort. Probably the one Albus had said his parents had gone to, the one he was Headmaster of. The tall man with black hair wasn’t there this time. He was the one who’d given Albus the stuff that made him sleepy, but it hadn’t really seemed like he’d wanted to. 

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over him and poked and prodded him a bit. It didn’t hurt at all; he just felt a strange tingly sensation race across his skin. She talked to him about his relatives and what happened and that is was normal to be sad. When Harry only nodded, she asked if he wanted to talk about it. Harry said, “No, thank you.” 

He supposed he was sad. His family was dead after all. But they were never very nice people. Not just to Harry, but to everyone. He had more pressing concerns right now on any account. Such as where he was going to live. He really hoped it wasn’t Aunt Marge. She could likely think up some place worse than a cupboard for Harry to stay in. At least his cupboard was warm and private. Aunt Marge would probably stick him outside in a dog cage or something. 

Madam Pomfrey told him he was right as rain, just needed to eat a bit more and drink a potion she placed in his hand and told him was full of vitamins, and then left him be. She, Professor McGonagall, and Albus Dumbledore went off to whisper (about him, most like) across the room while he sipped at the liquid. It tasted worse than anything and smelled a bit like a cat box. He glanced at the group clustered with their heads bent together and then quickly reached over to dump the rest into the soil of a little green plant that he was lucky enough to have on his bedside table. 

He half expected the plant to wither and die, like some gag he’d seen in a cartoon on telly, but nothing happened. He clutched the empty vial and waited for the adults to tell him what would happen next. 

What happened was Albus sitting on his bed and explaining to Harry that they would begin looking for family to take Harry in. Harry bit his tongue and did not mention Aunt Marge. 

“In the meantime,” Albus said. “Would you like to stay here at Hogwarts, Harry?” 

“Hogwarts?” 

“It’s the name of this school.” Albus smiled. “You aren’t yet old enough to attend, but we have a place for you here in mind.” 

Harry looked at all of their faces. All sad smiles and questioning hope. Harry swallowed and picked at his thumb nail. He didn’t know. He didn’t know at all. But he also didn’t know what else he would do. He couldn’t exactly refuse them or leave on his own. He tilted his head down to look at his lap and nodded. 

**Author's Note:**

> This will have a slower update schedule.


End file.
